


Two Ways to Fall

by tal_5



Series: Circus AU [3]
Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Circus, Anxiety, Eventual Romance, Fluff, Inspired by The Greatest Showman (2017), Light Angst, M/M, Panic, Strongman - Freeform, Trapeze, Virgil is an awkward boi, heights
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-10
Updated: 2018-12-10
Packaged: 2019-09-15 07:48:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16929303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tal_5/pseuds/tal_5
Summary: “All fixed.” Roman doesn’t acknowledge his awkward staring and merely tucks a few more strands of hair behind his ear. “Not that it matters too much, it’ll be messy again by the time the show is over.”Unable to do much else, the trapeze artist nods and self-consciously touches his hair. A hand gently swats his own away and he’s sent a reassuring smile. “You’ll pull it off, I’m sure.”A wink, then he’s gone.





	Two Ways to Fall

**Author's Note:**

> Pairing(s): Prinxiety
> 
> Warnings: Mention of injuries, mention of heights, mention of hospitals
> 
> Note: I’m sorry if a few facts in this seem unrealistic (and probably are). And smack me with a comment if there are any corrections needed!
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own the characters used in this story unless clearly stated. These characters belong to Thomas Sanders.

“Remember: if you drop me— “

“Yes, yes, I’ll suffer a violent death and whatnot; you tell me this before every performance.”

Virgil smirks. “Only so you’ll remember.”

Combing tanned fingers through his dark locks, the circus strongman rolls his eyes and closely admires his reflection in a pocket mirror held tightly in his hand. “You truly don’t have a speck of faith in me.”

Without confirming or denying his claim, Virgil shakes the pre-performance jitters from his hands, though they’re still tensed up when he stills them. He does the same thing almost every night, going through breathing techniques and even trying meditation a few times, but rarely does it ever work. The only antidote to his anxiety is actually climbing up to the platform and just _letting go_.

Air slips past his lips heavily and he pulls at his hair. From a few feet away, Virgil hears someone tutting before footsteps make their way over to him. Warm fingers push his hair from side to side, curling it, straightening it out, pulling out knots, and acting as if the distance between them isn’t getting smaller with every movement. He tries to ignore the heat radiating from the crimson-clad chest in front of him but doing this only forces his focus onto the arms caged around his head, reaching round to brush the strands of hair on the back of his head down neatly. For a second, Virgil wonders how he manages to keep his skin such a lovely golden olive when there’s been near to no sun for the past month or so, but immediately tears himself away from those thoughts when he hears Roman clear his throat. A sound that is too deliberate to be casual.

“All fixed.” Roman doesn’t acknowledge his awkward staring and merely tucks a few more strands of hair behind his ear. “Not that it matters too much, it’ll be messy again by the time the show is over.”

Unable to do much else, the trapeze artist nods and self-consciously touches his hair. A hand gently swats his own away and he’s sent a reassuring smile. “You’ll pull it off, I’m sure.”

A wink, then he’s gone.

* * *

 

Before every performance, or every rehearsal, Virgil wonders what it would be like to fall.

It’s not the most comforting thought, obviously, but he can’t help it. What if he _does_ fall? Nobody will be able to catch him. And the whole point of their circus is showing off their ability to do such amazing tricks _without_ the use of safety nets and such, it’s what draws the people in. Out of horror or fascination, Virgil isn’t quite sure.

To be honest, he doesn’t agree with the circus’ premise. It’s far too dangerous and not only does it put the safety of the performers at risk, but the audience isn’t entirely safe either. What if Virgil somehow swings too far forward and his hands slip? He would go flying right into the audience! The one time they did take various measures to keep the performers safe, not as many civilians bought tickets to their show, so the others immediately assumed that the use of safety precautions was the reason why. It was dumb. _They_ were dumb (sometimes). Everyone just assumes that Virgil and Remy and Logan are so talented at what they do, that they won’t waver, won’t fall. Surely, they _can’t_ fall. They’ll never do something like that!

Until they do.

During last night’s show, Thomas came up with a new move for Virgil and Remy and wished for them to put it into practice the very next day. It isn’t anything too complicated for the pair, really. But it does look rather impressive, and besides, the two of them having so many years of experience makes a lot of rather complicated moves easier for them. They both take as many safety measures as they possibly can before rehearsal, though Remy is a little laxer with his own well-being than Virgil is comfortable with.

Once they’re both up on the platforms, much too high up, but being too low down would probably be pretty dangerous too. Remy grins over at him, easing his nerves a little, before nodding for his companion to swing forward. And swing forward, he does.

Virgil absolutely adores how the wind blows through his hair, pushing it back against the crown of his head. He glides backwards again, sending a swarm of butterflies down into his stomach; going backwards is much scarier. As soon as he’s far back enough, Remy jumps to sit on the trapeze and drops backwards, hands outstretched. Virgil is swinging forward. He lets go. He twirls, flipping forward once. He reaches up.

_His fingers brush the tips of Remy’s._

He doesn’t hear the shriek that escapes his throat, only noticing the rush of air past his ears, the horrified muffled cries below and above him, and a pounding in his chest that becomes so loud it’s deafening. Numbly, he feels his body flip; his back is facing the floor. His brain feels so bruising that it doesn’t dare let Virgil know that he is, in fact, falling.

Instead of feeling the hard dirt floor smash his bones into pieces, there’s only darkness.

* * *

 

When he awakens, he finds that the word ‘drink’ is the only thing his brain can provide him with. As he opens his mouth to try and ask for some water, a wave of coughs wrack his body, as if a build-up of dust had scratched his throat and burst through his lips. There’s shuffled movement beside him and someone begins patting his back. “Here’s some water.”

Virgil doesn’t acknowledge the voice and simply grabs the bottle, gulping as much of it down as he can. A low chuckle beside him catches his attention; Logan’s laugh is always a lovely sound. “How are you feeling? Is there anything else you require?”

“Shit. Death.”

His answers are rather difficult to understand, so it’s lucky that Logan has known him for so long. The tightrope walker rolls his eyes, but no malice is in the action and Virgil’s shoulders relax as he leans back into the bed he’s in. He closes his eyes and tries to think back to why he was asleep in the first place. _Was_ he asleep? A mind delirious with nausea and sleep isn’t the best tool for remembering stuff, he discovers.

Before he manages to uncover blurred images of red and white, Logan somehow senses Virgil’s confusion and speaks in his usual modulated voice. “You fell.”

 _Oh._ So, he did.

He meets an amber gaze filled with muffled concern and hopes that his questioning look is enough for Logan to spill answers. Apparently it is. “Our vapid halfwit of a strongman caught you,” he mutters, a sigh caught in the back of his throat, “I’m pleased that you are safe, but he should have known that, even with his great amount of strength, doing such a thing wouldn’t end well for him.”

Eyes widening, Virgil’s body snaps up and he feels his jaw drop. “Roman… _caught_ me? How?!”

Logan shrugs and his lips twitch upwards slightly. “I’m not quite sure. Adrenaline may have numbed the pain for a little while and, obviously, he’s very strong, so I suppose he was able to support your increased weight. And you know him,” a smile actually tugs at his lips now, “he’s much too stubbornly selfless to put his own health first.”

There’s a long pause. “Is _he_ okay?”

“His arm broke on impact, but yes, he’s been taken to a hospital and I assume he’s being fixed up right now.”

Why would Roman break his arm for _him_? Or put himself in a situation that would end in such a thing happening. Yes, a broken arm is a lot better than death, but Virgil can’t help feeling guilty. If he’d just swung a bit further, maybe he would’ve made it. “Is Remy alright?”

With a nod, Logan explains that everyone else is fine, but he was the only one calm enough to come in and watch over him. Virgil offers his friend a tiny smile of gratitude before yawning; falling from fifteen to twenty feet really took a lot out of a guy. He curls up on his side, watching as Logan takes out a book, one written by Agatha Christie, obviously. “Sleep if you’d like. I’m content reading the last few chapters of my book until you awaken.”

Virgil is already out cold.

* * *

 

“Actually, I think I’d prefer to stay here. You go on, though. I’m sure Patton is excited to spend time with you.”

A grumble. _Silence_.

Consciousness creeps up on Virgil just as the marshmallow in his mind finishes its dramatic monologue on the colour red. He grunts quietly, and pries open his eyes, squinting even in the dimness of the trailer. Beside him, a familiar figure turns to face him. “Wakey, wakey, Eliza _Does-little_. How are you feeling?”

 _Roman_. The smooth honey in his voice releases all tension in Virgil’s muscles and he sighs, reluctantly pushing himself upwards. “Yuck.”

A soft chuckle fills the room. “Fair enough.”

More silence.

“Thanks, y’know, for catching me.”

Roman’s eyes seem to light up, though Virgil can’t completely read what they’re trying to express. He shifts a little closer, tilting his head to beam over at him, and even in what little light there is in the trailer, Virgil can see everything much more clearly. “No need to thank me, Virgil. I’m just happy that you’re safe and sound.”

Ducking his head, the trapeze artist shrugs and stares intently down at his hands. He closes them into fists, feeling the soft material of his blanket slide in between his fingers. The scuttling in his stomach is a hollow reminder of the fact that he _fell_. How will he go anywhere near the trapeze again? A familiar echo of fear screams loudly in his ears, rushing down to his chest where it squeezes his heart until it drops into his stomach. Trapeze is everything to him, but it’s just so _dangerous_.

“You were glowing today,” Roman mutters, staring out of the window of Virgil’s room, “it’s a shame that Thomas is so insistent on practicing without safety nets. Though, to be honest, I think it’s Dorian that keeps convincing him to do so.”

 _Glowing?_ Virgil can’t stop his gaze from suddenly racing over to where Roman is sitting beside his bed, left arm wrapped up in a cast and right arm resting on the edge of Virgil’s bed. The faded red cast forces a worry into his mind. How is he going to perform with a broken arm? Did he ruin the entire show for _six to twelve_ _weeks_?! He swallows and grips the sheets in his pale fingers once again, shifting his focus from the strongman beside him to the cotton on his skin. Thomas must be so annoyed with him. _Everyone_ must be angry at him!

Beside him, Roman makes a sound of disapproval before standing up. Is _Roman_ mad at him? If he is, he has a funny way of showing it.

“Scoot along, Boo _Hoo_.”

Virgil is frozen for a moment, surprised at his request, but soon moves to make room for his companion. Only when they’re both comfortable and under the blankets does Virgil realise what Roman had called him. “What were you even referencing there?”

His expression must hold more confusion than he thinks, because Roman stifles a snort in his hand and shrugs. “Boo Boo? From ‘ _The Yogi Bear Show_ ’? Wow, did you even have a childhood, Hermione _Grunge-er?_ ”

Involuntarily, the trapeze artist giggles a most horrendous giggle, and he hides his mortified face in the sleeves of his hoodie. “That wasn’t even good.”

“It made you laugh though.”

And, damn, he had him there.

The two of them sit there in the darkness for just over an hour, sometimes talking about absolutely nothing, and sometimes just allowing themselves to sink into the gentle silence of the night. Outside his window, there’s a strong gust of wind that slips through the branches of trees standing around their setup, and he feels something heavy in his chest as he desperately attempts to catch a glimpse just one star. But, alas, silver ships above are dunked into the dark navy sky, drowned by the light of several streetlamps. Despite this, the warmth of a certain strongman’s hand looking over a bump on the back of his head distracts him from this fact.

And as Roman pulls him downwards to lay beside him, Virgil is really glad _he’s_ the one who caught him. He almost doesn’t mind falling.


End file.
